Miss Patricia
Mayfair is a wealthy, orphaned Regency bluestocking. While in London for the
Season, Miss Mayfair spends more time buying books than ribbons, to the despair
of her more conventional friend. Begrudgingly attending a dinner party, Miss
Mayfair meets Lord Andrew Aragon, who fancies himself tired of London and the ton and never expects to fall instantly
head-over-heels. But Lord Andrew is a notorious gambler, and Miss Mayfair has
vowed she will never marry a man who indulges in such a vice. Can the leopard
change his spots or the rake his habits?

EXCERPT

"My dearest Patricia, you must
allow your hair to be done, I vow, or you will never be ready in time, and I
don't know whatSir Everard will say," muttered Leticia Warren around
a mouthful of hairpins that threatened to impale her plump cheeks with every
word. A silver-backed brush hung from one delicate, rounded hand, shining
bright against her pale green silk skirts.

Patricia
Mayfair looked up from the book that engrossed her to the exclusion of all
else--a most common affair with Miss Mayfair, as any of her friends would
swear--and gave a distracted smile in the general direction of her companion.

"My
dear Leticia," Patricia replied with a cheerful, mocking grin, "as I
have been invited to the beautiful Lady Christabel Russell's house, no one will
notice whether I have hair or not, much less how it is arranged. So
settle yourself, do, Letty, and let me finish this chapter, I pray you."

Leticia
gave a sniff which spoke volumes then waited with exaggerated patience, tapping
one tiny, slippered foot on the rosy Aubusson carpet. A cheerful fire burned in
the grate, warming the high room, even though two windows were open to the
fresh air. As fresh as one could expect,
at least, in London,Leticia
thought with another metaphorical sniff.

As
if hearing this unspoken comment, Patricia said, without lifting her eyes from
her book, "Letty, we've only got another week in London. Do try to enjoy
it, won't you? Why, any other girl your age would be in raptures over the
experience."

Leticia
cast a glance out the open window, where the setting sun was casting its last
benevolent glow upon the great capital city, and gave a slow, sad shake of her
head. Her dark brown hair was smoothed back into a tidy bun, with no tendrils
allowed to escape from their careful bondage, and her bright brown eyes suffused
for an instant with unshed tears. She pulled a dainty lace handkerchief from
her sleeve and dabbed at one moist eye in an irritated and peremptory fashion.
The desired effect was somewhat ruined, sadly, by the cluster of hairpins still
in her mouth. She removed them with what dignity she could manage.

"He's
probably missing you as much as you're missing him, you know, my dear,"
said Patricia, her eyes still on her book. "And he couldn't leave, not
while the corn needs getting in, nor would you wish him to, so there now. Do
dry your eyes, my dearest, do."

Leticia
Warren wandered across the room and plumped down on the low settee that stood
before the window. She cast a wondering glance towards Patricia, still
reading--how does she always manage to
know what I'm thinking, she wondered idly--and gave herself up to thoughts
of the stalwart young gentleman farmer who would soon claim her for his bride.

Some
moments passed in glorious silence, as each young lady was engrossed in that
which pleased her most.

At
last, Patricia shut her book with a satisfied nod. "There now, Letty,
chapter all done. My head is at your complete and total disposal, to do with as
you will."

Letty
rose gracefully from the settee and pattered across the carpet to pounce on the
proffered head. She spent some enjoyable moments running the horsehair bristles
through the shining masses of dark auburn curls and twining them about each
other, jabbing hairpins in place with a determination that would have graced a
general.

"It
is a fascinating book, I take it?" Letty asked as she maneuvered a
particularly recalcitrant curl into proper position with the ease of long
practice.

"Letty,
you're as little interested in books as I am in having my hair done,"
Patricia laughed up at her companion and friend. "A good thing for your
Thomas, no doubt, since you'll be a treasure for him about the house. Indeed,
you'll be as useful as I would be a burden to a husband."

Letty
smiled at the mention of her betrothed, dropping a hairpin onto the thick
carpet as an evidence of her delight. "Well, I do know a bit about running
a house, and that will be of benefit for him," she simpered to herself and
her friend in the silver-backed mirror. Then the expression on her pretty face
changed to one of concern. "But I'm sure that you'll find a man who is
reasonable about your books, truly, Patricia. Do not worry about it, my
dearest."

Patricia
laughed as she regarded her friend's intent look in the dressing table mirror.
"Do not let it put you into a pother, Letty, my dear. As you know, I have
all the money I'll ever need, and a husband is the last thing on my list of bits and bobs to acquire."

"But,
Patricia," said Letty, stopping her ministrations in mid stroke, "of
course you mustmarry. Why,
what about children?"

"Children!
Why, what about them, Letty? Useless, puling, distracting things, and besides,
they'd get in the way of my studies," said her friend then relented at the
expression this remark drew on the rosy face above hers in the mirror.
"Now, Letty, don't frown at your old school chum so, pray. Why, look at
what it does to your pretty brows, dragging them together like a witch's.
Thomas will give me a sound thrashing for vexing you, you know, and more
importantly, you'll get wrinkles."

Letty
allowed herself to be cozened out of her frown. Then, finishing her
hairdressing in record time, she stood back to admire her work. "There,
Patricia, I'd vow you couldn't have received better from a professional
hairdresser, be he French at that."

Patricia
eyed herself in the wavy glass. She knew herself to be no beauty in the current
fashion, which was all for slender elegance, golden curls, trailing draperies
and pink cheeks. Still, the dark reddish tints in her thick hair brought out
answering tints in her deep brown eyes, and her olive complexion looked well against
her simple, white, Empire-style dress, with its low cut neck, short, puffy
sleeves and long, narrow skirt.

"Well,
Letty, once again you've worked your miracle. I shan't make anyone run
screaming in terror, at the least, though I would far rather be wearing my
riding habit or some comfortable dressing gown. And perhaps I'll be lucky
enough to have someone to talk to at a private
dinner such as this, instead of these endless balls full of vapid young
lords or bluff army men with ruddy faces and thick hands, all talking at the
tops of their lungs about horses and shooting."